Ayala's Angel [142]
I daresay you find it so sometimes."
"In our profession", said Hamel, "we go on working though very often we do not sell what we do."
"That's bad," said Sir Thomas.
"It is the case always with an artist before he has made a name for himself. It is the case with many up to the last day of a life of labour. An artist has to look for that, Sir Thomas." "Dear me! That seems very sad. You are a sculptor, I believe?" "Yes, Sir Thomas."
"And the things you make must take a deal of room and be very heavy." At this Mr Hamel only smiled. "Don't you think if you were to call an auction you'd get something for them?" At this suggestion the sculptor frowned but condescended to make no reply. Sir Thomas went on with his suggestion. "If you and half a dozen other beginners made a sort of gallery among you, people would buy them as they do those things in the Marylebone Road and stick them up somewhere about their grounds. It would be better than keeping them and getting nothing." Hamel had in his studio at home an allegorical figure of Italia United, and another of a Prostrate Roman Catholic Church, which in his mind's eye he saw for a moment stuck here or there about the gardens of some such place as Glenbogie! Into them had been infused all the poetry of his nature and all the conviction of his intelligence. He had never dreamed of selling them. He had never dared to think that any lover of Art would encourage him to put into marble those conceptions of his genius which now adorned his studio, standing there in plaster of Paris. But to him they were so valuable, they contained so much of his thoughts, so many of his aspirations, that even had the marble counterparts been ordered and paid for nothing would have induced him to part with the originals. Now he was advised to sell them by auction in order that he might rival those grotesque tradesmen whose business it is to populate the gardens of wealthy but tasteless Britons! It was thus that the idea represented itself to him. He simply smiled; but Sir Thomas did not fail to appreciate the smile.
"And now about this young lady?" said Sir Thomas, not altogether in so good a humour as he had been when he began his suggestion. "It's a bad look out for her when, as you say, you cannot sell your work when you've done it."
"I think you do not quite understand the matter, Sir Thomas." "Perhaps not. It certainly does seem unintelligible that a man should lumber himself up with a lot of things which he cannot sell. A tradesman would know that he must get into the bankruptcy court if he were to go on like that. And what is sauce for the goose will be sauce for the gander also." Mr Hamel again smiled but held his tongue. "If you can't sell your wares how can you keep a wife?"
"My wares, as you call them, are of two kinds. One, though no doubt made for sale, is hardly saleable. The other is done to order. Such income as I make comes from the latter."
"Heads," suggested Sir Thomas.
"Busts they are generally called."
"Well, busts. I call them heads. They are heads. A bust, I take it, is -- well, never mind." Sir Thomas found a difficulty in defining his idea of a bust. "A man wants to have something more or less like someone to put up in a church and then he pays you." "Or perhaps in his library. But he can put it where he likes when he has bought it."
"Just so. But there ain't many of those come in your way, if I understand right."
"Not as many as I would wish."
"What can you net at the end of the year? That's the question." Lucy had recommended him to tell Sir Thomas everything; and he had come there determined to tell at any rate everything referring to money. He had not the slightest desire to keep the amount of his income from Sir Thomas. But the questions were put to him in so distasteful a way that he could not bring himself to be confidential. "It varies with various circumstances, but it is very small."
"Very small? Five hundred a year?" This was ill-natured, because Sir Thomas knew that Mr Hamel did not earn five hundred a year. But he
"In our profession", said Hamel, "we go on working though very often we do not sell what we do."
"That's bad," said Sir Thomas.
"It is the case always with an artist before he has made a name for himself. It is the case with many up to the last day of a life of labour. An artist has to look for that, Sir Thomas." "Dear me! That seems very sad. You are a sculptor, I believe?" "Yes, Sir Thomas."
"And the things you make must take a deal of room and be very heavy." At this Mr Hamel only smiled. "Don't you think if you were to call an auction you'd get something for them?" At this suggestion the sculptor frowned but condescended to make no reply. Sir Thomas went on with his suggestion. "If you and half a dozen other beginners made a sort of gallery among you, people would buy them as they do those things in the Marylebone Road and stick them up somewhere about their grounds. It would be better than keeping them and getting nothing." Hamel had in his studio at home an allegorical figure of Italia United, and another of a Prostrate Roman Catholic Church, which in his mind's eye he saw for a moment stuck here or there about the gardens of some such place as Glenbogie! Into them had been infused all the poetry of his nature and all the conviction of his intelligence. He had never dreamed of selling them. He had never dared to think that any lover of Art would encourage him to put into marble those conceptions of his genius which now adorned his studio, standing there in plaster of Paris. But to him they were so valuable, they contained so much of his thoughts, so many of his aspirations, that even had the marble counterparts been ordered and paid for nothing would have induced him to part with the originals. Now he was advised to sell them by auction in order that he might rival those grotesque tradesmen whose business it is to populate the gardens of wealthy but tasteless Britons! It was thus that the idea represented itself to him. He simply smiled; but Sir Thomas did not fail to appreciate the smile.
"And now about this young lady?" said Sir Thomas, not altogether in so good a humour as he had been when he began his suggestion. "It's a bad look out for her when, as you say, you cannot sell your work when you've done it."
"I think you do not quite understand the matter, Sir Thomas." "Perhaps not. It certainly does seem unintelligible that a man should lumber himself up with a lot of things which he cannot sell. A tradesman would know that he must get into the bankruptcy court if he were to go on like that. And what is sauce for the goose will be sauce for the gander also." Mr Hamel again smiled but held his tongue. "If you can't sell your wares how can you keep a wife?"
"My wares, as you call them, are of two kinds. One, though no doubt made for sale, is hardly saleable. The other is done to order. Such income as I make comes from the latter."
"Heads," suggested Sir Thomas.
"Busts they are generally called."
"Well, busts. I call them heads. They are heads. A bust, I take it, is -- well, never mind." Sir Thomas found a difficulty in defining his idea of a bust. "A man wants to have something more or less like someone to put up in a church and then he pays you." "Or perhaps in his library. But he can put it where he likes when he has bought it."
"Just so. But there ain't many of those come in your way, if I understand right."
"Not as many as I would wish."
"What can you net at the end of the year? That's the question." Lucy had recommended him to tell Sir Thomas everything; and he had come there determined to tell at any rate everything referring to money. He had not the slightest desire to keep the amount of his income from Sir Thomas. But the questions were put to him in so distasteful a way that he could not bring himself to be confidential. "It varies with various circumstances, but it is very small."
"Very small? Five hundred a year?" This was ill-natured, because Sir Thomas knew that Mr Hamel did not earn five hundred a year. But he